


Inveni

by mrhiddles



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, POV Bellamy Blake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 18:45:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8589571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrhiddles/pseuds/mrhiddles
Summary: He holds on tight. Tight enough his fingers ache.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have fallen in love with this show. I ship a lot of people but this one is my main so far. I've only watched up until season 2, so please no spoilers! I need to find where to watch seasons 3 and 4, and I need the books.

The mountains were dark, steep, a terrible foe both cold and far reaching. Clouds spanning the sky cast patterned light along its peaks, the stone cliffs blinding, the trees creeping. Hawks flew about, dipping for unseen prey, their calls echoing down to the valley where blood stained the leaves and a row of graves sat nestled at the base of trees. Too majestic a view for such ugliness on the ground.

He watched her kneel, place one hand on each grave and mutter a prayer. He wasn’t sure if it was _their_ words or some other silent goodbye, but either way she only spent a moment beside each. Rose up before her opposite hovering fingers could spread over the earth, as if touching both hands to where their bodies lay would be too much. Too weak.

He didn’t think so.

Her eyes shined as she passed him, and he thought _how brave, how headstrong, how unknown._

 

He’d disrespected her. He realized that too late.

He was tired of being the leader. Too tired to mediate, too tired to sleep around, too tired to really care.

But she was tired too, and kept on. He had to keep on too, for her. To show her his regret.

He wasn’t sure when it got like this.

 

His sister’s eyes are wide and she’s clearly amused as she watches her brother nearly tackled.

But he wraps his arms around her and allows himself to breathe in the scent of her, blonde hair tickling his face. He closes his eyes, imagining how it could be. How it _is_ , in that one moment.

He holds on tight. Tight enough his fingers ache.

 

It’s the time he spends in the vents that he finally lets himself think of her. He closes his eyes and tries to sleep in those first days, imagining instead that he’s lying beside her, idly touching her hair, feeling her chest expand with every deep breath. But he opens his eyes and its cold, endless metal, and the crash of distant machinery working to pump breathable air.

He’s not one for praying but in these vents, he mouths one or two. He knows what he could lose.

 

He can still feel the press of her lips on his cheek even as she walks away into the trees.

Her words echo through his head and he can just barely manage to repeat the same, fighting to go after her, fighting to go forward. He’s stuck. There’s a knot in his throat and all he wants is to drag her back into camp and tell her she’ll be okay, that _they’ll_ be okay, but he can’t. He owes her that.

He owes her a lot.


End file.
